TO HAVE AND TO HOLD

THIS IS LOVE

WHEN YOU MISS SOMEONE

MORE OFTEN THAN NOT IT IS THEIR TOUCH THAT YOU MISS THE MOST

THE SENSE THAT THEY ARE NEAR

 THE REASSURANCE OF THE WEIGHT OF THEIR BODY NEXT TO YOURS, AND NOT ANY BODY, THEIRS

IT CAN BE AS SIMPLE AS A BRUSH AGAINST YOUR CHEEK

THEIR HAND HOLDING THE SMALL OF YOUR BACK

THE USHERING MOTION AS THEY MOVE YOU CLOSER TOWARDS THEM

OR SIMPLY 

HOLDING YOUR HAND

I will hold your hand.
Maybe the first night we meet in a quick and firm handshake.
Or years and years later when we walk down a familiar street.
Maybe in the back of a cab in the Lower East Side.
The aisles of the old antique shops,
trying to stay connected even though our path narrows.
 I will hold your hand each night.
Gazing at its skin, casing your muscle and bone.
I will know the rough calluses you got from years of routine.
I will memorize the knuckles and document them in my memory.
I will hold your hand in foreign lands.
I will squeeze tightly to reassure you. Too tell you. I love you.
I will hold your hand when you meet my family.
I will loosely entangle my digits betwixt yours. Lazy hand swinging.
I will clutch your hand in the warm, windproof pockets of your winter coat.
I will hold your hand when we walk museums, or libraries.
Maybe I will tie us together with knotted fingers.
I just know, I will hold your hand.

xx